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Sharing Food and Memories with Friends and Family

I grew up hearing stories of my grandmothers and their preparations for Passover, most of which began way in advance of the holiday. The walls had to be whitewashed, the geese had to be slaughtered and the goose fat rendered, and the down pillows were opened so that the feathers could be cleaned and re-stuffed into new ticking. Then there was the shopping and cooking. With large families, and no take-out or prepared foods available, everything was made at home. I was told that my maternal grandmother baked an enormous sponge-cake every morning, made with 12 dozen eggs, a cake large enough so everyone could have a piece for breakfast. I wish I knew my grandmothers, these women who worked tirelessly to keep their traditions and whose efforts made lasting impressions on their children and on the grandchildren they never had the chance to meet.

I think of my mother’s preparations for Passover and wonder how much she was influenced by her own childhood experiences. I think of my children and wonder if there are pieces they will choose to keep from their childhood. Do they remember that the glass dishes soaked in the bathtub for days, that they were made to clean their dresser drawers while keeping an eye out for pieces of gum or candy that might have been missed. That the trunk of the car was loaded with all the cutlery, pots and pans that had to be toivled at the synagogue and then driven to the car wash so that the back seats could be lifted and vacuumed? Or my personal favorite which was hiding the chametz around the house and searching for it by candlelight?

I too am starting to think of Passover and I remember specific foods that my mother always had on hand during the holidays. Home-made beet borscht for one, the cold version that had sour cream mixed in which turned it into the color of bubble gum, but which I never did acquire a taste for. When I met my friend Susan T., I discovered a meat version of beet borscht, made with short ribs and served piping hot with a generous dollop of mashed potatoes mixed with fried onions, heaped in the center of the soup bowl and suddenly I discovered how good beets could be. Eventually there were other preparations that I now love, like beets paired with goat cheese and walnuts, or simply roasted and drizzled with an aged balsamic vinegar.

I wish my grandmothers had lived to see how Passover is observed in the homes of their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I imagine that they would shep naches knowing that their descendents make an effort to get together for the seders, that we care enough to argue over issues like kitniyot, that we have dishes like beet salad whose ingredients they would still recognize as being familiar, and that no matter how many of us there are, we make sure there is enough cake so that everyone can have a piece for breakfast.

This is how the produce man at the farmer’s market suggested that I prepare the beets. Take a thin slice off the top and bottom of each beet and then place beets in a pot with enough water to cover. Bring water to a boil, lower heat to medium, and cook beets until they can be easily pierced with the tip of a knife. Cool just enough to be able to handle beets and then peel by rubbing skin off with your fingers. The skin will easily fall off.

Cut beets into 1/3-inch-thick wedges and place in a large bowl with orange segments and onion. Top with pomegranate seeds. Whisk orange juice, pomegranate molasses, vinegar, and olive oil. Dress salad and add salt and pepper to taste. Serves 4-6

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8 thoughts on “Beet and Blood Orange Salad”

You have some terrific qualities but math is not one of them. I don’t think I have laughed so much in my life since I read about the sponge cake made of 144 EGGS for a family of EIGHT for each day of Passover. There must be some mistake somewhere. I don’t think there were enough chickens in Mogielnica for every other family if our grandmother used all those eggs. But you are very funny and cute. My mother told me that they used to buy a SHOK of eggs every Passover for the eight days. Maybe a SHOK was about twelve dozen. It is very strange about the things each of us remembers. I don’t remember your stories and you don’t remember mine. But it does not matter because we both have good memories of growing up.

I had tears streaming down my face when you called me and told me that what I wrote was impossible. I too was laughing so hard because I have such vivid memories of questioning Mommy about the number of eggs and she would get frustrated with me for questioning her. It didn’t seem SO unreasonable because many recipes for sponge cake use 10-12 eggs and they had a large family. We will never know but I can’t imagine that she would have told me 12 dozen, that would not have been worth mentioning????????? We will never know but I am sticking to my story.